


One Is Enough

by excogs



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alexander Questline (Final Fantasy XIV), Canon Autistic Character, Established Relationship, F/F, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, Fluff and Humor, Kissing, Original Character(s), Sign Language, nobody writes the autistic lesbian affections that i want to see in the world so i became an author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25578433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excogs/pseuds/excogs
Summary: Scions of the Seventh Dawn Ekho Paialthe and Y'shtola Rhul retreat to the Rising Stones to assess their current situation: The primal Alexander looming over the Dravanian Hinterlands, a dwindling supply of desserts to fuel their research, and, perhaps most dangerously, a pair of Miqo'te going to great lengths to prevent each other from getting any work done.
Relationships: Y'shtola Rhul/Ekho Paialthe, Y'shtola Rhul/Original Character(s), Y'shtola Rhul/Warrior of Light
Comments: 9
Kudos: 49





	One Is Enough

The heroes’ triumph is never enough.

When Gaius Van Baelsar fell, leaving his Fourteenth Legion in disarray and the Ultima Weapon destroyed, and the leaders of the Eorzean Alliance declared the Seventh Astral Era upon them, the roar of the awoken Bahamut shook the lands and a parade of new primals rose to ring in the age. After the wards guarding the Steps of Faith stood undaunted against the wyrm Vishap’s assault, a celebration of Eorzean unity turned dark, threatening to destroy the Scions of the Seventh Dawn’s reputation and even the Sultana’s life. When the key to Azys Lla dropped from the felled Bismarck, white whale of the Sea of Clouds, promising Ishgard and Dravania both safety from sordid scheming, dark magic tore it from the heroes’ hands and left it in those of the Archbishop Thordan VII, who would use the power it locked away to rule all with an iron fist.

So when the newly-crowned King Thordan, his Knights Twelve, and the Ascians who empowered him were laid low at the hands of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, when Ekho Paialthe rejoiced in finally having a chance to settle down and relax with her spouse for even a few days, it came as no surprise that a new threat emerged, quite literally, rearing up from its resting place in the Thaliak River with a great grinding of steel.

Alexander, as the Archons called it, a walking citadel abandoned during the Sharlayan Exodus, had been brought to life by the Goblin Illuminati as a primal. It was unclear whether the Illuminati, thusly armed and conquest-minded, or Alexander itself, an aether-sucking primal of nigh-untenable scope, was the bigger threat. Any primal, given license to consume unanswered, could easily bleed its surroundings dry in a matter of weeks; at Alexander’s size, the Scions had but days.

So while Salia Paialthe, esteemed Warrior of Light, and some of the other Scions of the Seventh Dawn delved into the opening in Alexander’s arm to shut down the Gordian Knot and the Illuminati’s plans with it, Ekho Paialthe and Y’shtola Rhul retreated to the Rising Stones to tackle the threat Alexander itself posed to the land. The two had already spent over a day surrounded by books, tea, and whatever sweets they could scrounge up to fuel their research and, just before the sun breached the horizon in Mor Dhona, Ekho returned to the Stones to continue.

Ekho can feel a colorless gaze upon her as soon as she slips into the common room. A wry voice cuts through the misty morning’s silence to chastise her. “Finally awake?”

Ekho huffs. [Communing with the Elementals takes time, you know,] she signs, casting her indignance-wrought gestures towards the woman in white within. [I’d bet I’ve been up longer than you!]

“Want to bet the last morsel on it?” Y’shtola prods, a knowing smile on her face. True to her word, a small box, about two ilms tall, partitioned into hollow cubes marked with varying amounts of what appeared to be chocolate remains, rests unlidded next to a tome on the table, but one lonely dessert lingering uneaten.

[Y’shtola! You ate the rest?!] Ekho’s motions are weighed by obvious disappointment. The box was Ekho’s, as she had reminded Y’shtola, and while she’d been happy to share it (despite it being the last of her lingering savings from Valentione’s Day), she’d hoped she would be more fair about her portion.

Y’shtola just laughs softly. “To the early wyrm goes the bird, Ekho. Surely your Elementals would understand your need for speedier communing when there’s chocolate to be consumed?”

[The Elementals are not material beings, and they do not understand what chocolate is or why it is so obviously important!]

Y’shtola’s laughter does not falter, and Ekho can’t finish her sentence without getting caught up in the flood of it. Ekho shakes her head and thrusts her hands into the air defeatedly. At least she’d left one, after all.

“Come and sit, dear. I’ve made you tea, and by the creases around your eyes, I’d say you need it.” Y’shtola gestures to a teacup aside her tome. It’s fresh, if the steam is any indication.

Ekho sighs. [I’ll forgive your thievery this once, but only for the tea and for how much work we’ve left to do. Have you made any further progress?]

The hopeful question is met with the shake of a head. “I’m afraid Master Matoya’s notes are as inscrutable as always. I’ve been here an hour trying to discern the meanings and methods behind the Forum’s creations to no avail. What of you? Did the Elementals care to divulge aught of use?”

[Their concern is great even now, which worries me. We’ve not yet seen any effect outside of the Hinterlands, but if the Elementals already stir, there is no time to waste.] Ekho pauses, pressing her hands to her hips and gazing up at the ceiling as if looking for a sign from the spirits, but nothing of the sort comes. [As for a solution, no, I received little and less.]

The two Miqo’te exchange a look of worry. Whether or not their allies succeed in shutting down the Gordian Knot, time was running out.

Y’shtola interrupts the silence. “Your tea, Ekho. Don’t let my hard work go cold. Or do you intend to stand there and mope, leaving all of the work to me?”

Predictably, the jab breaks Ekho from her forlorn stare. After a moment’s hesitation, she beckons to Y’shtola’s call (or, perhaps, the promise of warm tea), her robes swaying lazily in time with her slow steps. She falls into the couch with a dull _whump,_ adjusts the skirt of her robes carefully, then sinks back into her seat. Y’shtola eyes her with a smile as she takes up her teacup gracefully. She sips, and a rush of warmth runs through her, a jolt of energy that purges the fog from her eyes and sends a small flutter through her ears and tail. A pleased sigh pushes away the wisp of steam passing by her front, and she nods her thankfulness aside.

Having been thusly awakened, Ekho turns to the natural second task on her agenda for the morning: Lamenting the distance between herself and her spouse.

[What I would not give to have slept at home with Salia...] Ekho’s head gently swoops downwards in her melancholic, still-drowsy stupor. [The beds here are fair comfortable, but be that as it may, the less I sleep alone, the more difficult I find it on the nights that I do.]

“You should have taken up my offer, then,” Y’shtola retorts without hesitation.

[Had I done so, I would have gotten _less_ sleep.]

Y’shtola leans forward from behind her own cup of tea, sizing Ekho up slyly. “And?”

[And we have _work_ to do,] Ekho signs back, stopping halfway to drop the pad of her finger on Y’shtola’s nose and push her back towards her seat.

Y’shtola snorts. “Forgive a girl her hospitality!”

Ekho’s finger trails up Y’shtola’s nose to her forehead and through her bangs, tracing gently over her roots before landing a soft pat and tustle, ruffling her bangs and causing the long falls of hair framing her face to shift and resettle. [I’ve already forgiven you once today, have I not?] she teases.

“‘Tis lucky for me, then, that your order performs rites of forgiveness.” Y’shtola’s attempt to hold that unforgettable smirk of hers was doomed from the start, though, swept up as she is in the Hearer’s affections, the eye closer to Ekho’s hand half-closed and her ears dimmed in content.

[Woodsin is one thing. I fear matters of chocolate theft and _impropriety_ are outside of the Fane’s jurisdiction.]

Y’shtola pulls away from Ekho’s hand, turns her nose up, and draws her eyebrows down pitifully, her pursed lips and _adorably kitty-coeurl-like_ gaze easily pulling just the same from Ekho in reaction.

Ekho huffs. Her hand hangs in the empty air for just a moment, as if any slight motion would shake off the last remaining hints of sensation on it. The moment passes, and Y’shtola shrugs and retreats back to her seat, a resigned grin ushering the pout that was so clearly beneath her station out.

Ekho feels a tail tap her arm as a soft laugh reaches her ears. It taps again as she reaches for her tea, then once more as she puts it down. No tap comes, though, when Ekho joins Y’shtola in silent reading and contemplation. Disappointing, certainly, but understandable, as Ekho was certainly not wagging _her_ tail over scholarly literature. At present, she was perusing a hand-bound journal, title _An Annotated Record of Aetherological Readings Across The Twelveswood Following the Calamity_ scrawled on the cover, one of the limited supply of relevant tomes in Stillglade Fane’s archive that she’d borrowed.

Not exactly thrilling, and ill likely to contain aught of use, but Ekho Paialthe reads on. However, the fire in her heart from the night prior seems to have dimmed considerably, and Ekho soon finds herself tapping and stimming to keep her waning focus alive. Her free hand’s fingers drift across the intricately laced surface of the opposing hand’s wristglove, but her mind drifts elsewhere, and soon enough, she finds herself reaching for that last delectable chocolate morsel on the table.

Only when her fingers are poised to take it, though, does she feel another hand quickly and decisively grab her wrist.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?”

Ekho looks over to see Y’shtola’s eyes drilling into her, a knowing smile creasing her cheeks. Y’shtola’s book falls from her free hand into her lap with a papery _thump_ and she watches, unmoving save for the slightest hint of a flick in her tail, waiting to see exactly how Ekho would choose to answer her question. As if the binding of her hands and the unyielding, nearly mocking gaze freezing Ekho in place weren’t enough, the gentle rubbing of Y’shtola’s thumb, sweeping slowly, lazily across her downturned palm, so methodically gentle as to completely occupy every quickened whisper of Ekho’s very soul, sets her cheeks alight, red as the caps of her sleeves, and her stomach churning with fluttering morphos.

Like clay hardening in the Thanalan sun, like a huntress’ prey frozen in place on the wrong end of her shortbow, wide-eyed with fatal understanding, Ekho was right where Y’shtola Rhul wanted her to be.

Ekho sputters, her free hand twitching as she tries to reassert control over it. Her eyes dart every which way except for towards Y’shtola’s, those piercing whites that Ekho could feel boring into her with greater intensity every moment she delayed her answer, and with enough willful shoving of such thoughts out of her head she manages to bring words to her fingers and retriever her captured hand.

[I-I am… Eating _my_ sweets?] Never to be outwitted, Ekho’s blank stare slowly morphs into an eyebrow-raising, pithy grin. She rubs the spot Y’shtola had been grabbing with a pair of fingers. Y’shtola’s response is a laugh.

“Oh, come now, Ekho. I thought we agreed to save a remainder for when our work is finished!”

Ekho scoffs indignantly. [Says the one who ate through three before the clock struck seven!]

“Does our lauded Hearer truly put forth a game of who hit first?” Y’shtola retorts, crossing her arms. “And here I thought your training at the Fane stressed the need to rise above petty conflict!”

 _Y’shtola never played fair_ , Ekho thinks to herself.

[I would have you know that the Fane espouses fairness, honesty, and taking only what one needs, _Archon!_ ]

“Is that so?” Undeterred, Y’shtola laughs again, softly, yet audibly full of satisfaction. Her shoulders slump down with a dismissive shrug, and she takes each of Ekho’s hands into her own. An endearing smile creases her face. In all other situations, such a grin would silently betray deep affection, but when Ekho Paialthe and Y’shtola Rhul start wielding titles as weapons of war, however, such a smile is nothing less than the Ultima Weapon of Wit.  
  
Or so Y’shtola thinks. Ekho, however, has other plans.

“I believe it’s high time we returned to our-” Y’shtola’s gloat is cut off as Ekho springs forward and pulls her hands back, yanking Y’shtola’s grips towards her and meeting her halfway, angling her head just off to the left, lining up their lips and locking them. Y’shtola lets her grip slip in surprise and Ekho runs with her freedom, throwing her arms around her back, holding her up against her as they kiss. Ekho holds back a victorious laugh as a muffled, cut-off word passes towards her lips, but the true victory comes when Shtola, too, tilts her head, finally pressing their lips together with fiery, competitive intensity.

In between muffled gasps and hums across enjoined lips, Ekho feels Y’shtola’s arms wrap around her, hands tucking themselves beneath the outer jacket of her robes. One arm locks tightly around Ekho, and the other slips up her back, out through the hood, tracing fingernails up Ekho’s neck and into the roots of her hair until they settle and begin to scratch. Ekho’s ears strike up and gently fall down, and soon the waves of pleasure crashing down her body in time with Y’shtola’s loving scratches force her to pull back for a slow, shuddered breath.

“Clever girl.” Satisfaction practically drips from Y’shtola’s words. Her hold on Ekho loosens, but the arm through the hood stays, keeping her just close enough that she can feel Y’shtola’s breath grazing her as she speaks. Yet again, Ekho is left wordless, her wrists limp and her mind dulled in pleasure; all she can do is purr, fangs hanging unceremoniously in the air, but Y’shtola doesn’t seem to mind.

Ekho is keenly aware that Y’shtola’s eyes are locked on her, empty of color and yet so, so full of life, and while she doesn’t care to look directly at them, she could scarce convince herself to divorce them from her field of vision entirely. To Ekho, they were more beautiful like this than they’d ever been; that pure gaze seemed to stare directly into her soul, and she knew this was not far off from the truth.

Every time the thought crossed Ekho’s mind, she could not help but remember that day in Everschade. She remembered the fear, the uncertainty, the nervous gazes of Y’mhitra and the remaining Scions pressed on her as she raised her cane alongside the Seedseers. She remembered the flash of light and Y’shtola’s unconscious body falling into her arms. Bereft of her hair accessories and wrapped gently in white cloth, she seemed almost otherworldly, adrift in a peaceful haze, so soft and content that even a breath could blow her away into dust.

Ekho had been first to realize what the Lifestream had done to Y’shtola’s eyes. The way she reacted to her signing upon waking up had made it all too clear. What Ekho feared might push them apart, however, had instead driven them closer. Nobody saw Ekho’s words more clearly than she who saw in aether, after all.

The gentle caress of a thumb across the crimson-gray stripes on Ekho’s face stirs her from her idle thoughts. Y’shtola eventually pulls back and untucks her hand from Ekho’s hood, still gazing down at her, a slow, affectionate, lip-corner-twisting gaze that one would normally reserve for a just-finished aetherology dissertation.

Ekho Paialthe takes no small amount of pride in stealing the sorts of looks that Y’shtola would otherwise give to her academic works, and takes every chance she can get to bask in them.

Y’shtola sighs sympathetically and takes Ekho’s hand one last time, finally with genuine, loving softness.

“We’ve work to do, you know. What say you move a bit closer and we resume our task?” Y’shtola pats the empty couch cushion next to her, and Ekho can’t help but wonder why she hadn’t chosen to sit there in the first place. “If this is what it takes to keep you from eating the last of our sweets, then it is a sacrifice I will make.”

[You-!] Ekho snaps back, but she is cut off as Y’shtola pulls her by her other hand towards her until she’s in the designated spot. Ekho wrests her hand free, though, unwilling to let her part go unsaid. [ _You_ ate them!]

She huffs. Y’shtola is clearly unperturbed, however, her eyes already back into her book, and no amount of pouting nor glaring on Ekho’s part manages to draw her out again.

[For being the one who so often threatens to pull others over her knee and _spank_ them, Shtola…]

That catches her attention, if the shifting of bangs and the rise of one pale eyebrow is anything to go by. Ekho crosses her arms then strikes them out into an exasperated shrug.

[...Your willingness to act the _petulant child_ behind closed doors truly knows no bounds.]

Ekho lets off an overplayed, exasperated sigh, and shakes her head like a mother would towards her chocolate-thieving young. Y’shtola’s book falls into her lap, as she dips into a reserved, scoffed snicker, but it doesn’t take long before she’s doubled over completely in laughter, the gem-strung chain hanging off her neck rattling against her coat’s clasp. Ekho gets swept up in it too, an ear-twinging, fang-bearing, full-bodied and jovial laughter that cuts through the morning air and drives out the wisps of steam rising from nearby teacups and the lazy, hazy fog that drifts through every settlement in Mor Dhona.

It takes some time for either to be in any condition to say anything again. Ekho manages to raise her hands first. [And yet I have been summarily blocked from partaking of my own sweets without retaliation. If only the other Scions knew just what a devil you were.]  
  
Y’shtola tosses a smirk up from the book she’d just managed to pick up again, its pages fluttering with her short, huffed breaths. Ekho shifts into a relaxed sit, pulls her tome and tea over, and lets herself lie back, comfortably pressed both into the couch and into Y’shtola’s shoulder. Her affectionate shifting is greeted with a half-hearted, loving murmur and the faintest hint of a shoulder rubbing into hers, but Ekho’s study buddy seems strongly intent on remaining focused after their earlier distractions.

Back to _An Annotated Record of Aetherological Readings Across The Twelveswood Following the Calamity,_ then. Ekho slowly turns the page, trying desperately to shoo thoughts of Y’shtola’s warm skin and soft lips out of her head—she needs all of the mental space she can get to process these aetherological readings, in truth—but the thoughts claw their way back, and by the Twelve she wishes her claws were still on her head, and…

As if sensing the perfect opportunity to make things even harder for her companion, Y’shtola shifts until she’s facing slightly away from Ekho and resting her head on her shoulder. She tosses a smile towards her unwitting pillow, and Ekho returns her warmth with a quick lean and kiss to her forehead.

[Just how little interest do you truly have in my focused studying?] Ekho signs, scoffing.

Y’shtola snorts. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

[Menphina’s pan, Shtola…!] Ekho’s head dips to rest on top of Y’shtola’s. If her hair falls all over her, the better payback, so Ekho can’t help but snicker when she hears a puff of air and feels her hair get brushed off to the side.

There’s ample ammo for a retort on both sides, but the room falls silent as each Scion returns to her reading. Affectionate minutes turn quickly into a loving hour, each Miqo’te moving for little than to dote on each other gently, pull over yet another tome, or refill their cups of tea.

Ekho has much and more she wishes to say of her worries over Alexander and Salia’s progress within, of their dwindling sugar supply and the lie of blame therefore, and of the quality of tea, books, or company in the Rising Stones on this particular morning, but she remains still. This morning, to leave it unsaid, to simply know what sympathetic hug, wry smile, or witty reply she _might_ receive, was enough. Y’shtola Rhul’s body leaned gently against hers was enough. The occasional kiss or thumb to the cheek, the sweet nothings, the brushing of free hands was enough. One chocolate morsel would be enough.

Or, at least, it would have been. Ekho eventually looks up to see not one sweet awaiting her, but one Y’shtola Rhul quietly grazing her tongue across a sugar-stained index finger.  
  
_[SHTOLA!]_


End file.
